


occasional, cynical

by sleepyvan



Category: Cow Chop, The Creatures (Youtube RPF)
Genre: (kind of), Hurt and comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, TIME FOR A GTA AU BOYS
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-06-08 13:29:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6856966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepyvan/pseuds/sleepyvan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aleks never calls anybody when he was in trouble. He likes to think it's the Russian part of him.</p><p>Besides, he's only bleeding a little; barely a scratch to his left shoulder socket, and he can limp like the best of them, so he wobbles toward an exit and hopes to God whoever's fucking shooting at him right now gets an insane itch so he gets some sort of break -  </p><p>Boom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the shock before the storm

**Author's Note:**

> Bonjour! Long time, no see. This was started before Cow Chop lifted off, so there is a few outdated references I guess.  
> Title from So Faded by Phlake. Enjoy!

Aleks never calls anybody when he was in trouble. He likes to think it's the Russian part of him. 

Besides, he's only bleeding a little; barely a scratch to his left shoulder socket, and he can limp like the best of them, so he wobbles toward an exit and hopes to God whoever's fucking shooting at him right now gets an insane itch so he gets some sort of break - 

_Boom._

Fucking hell, dude. 

He stumbles to the ground as an explosion rocks the building, shields his neck with his non-useless arm as shattered glass rained down around him like a blizzard. His gun slides out of its holster, and he can hear sudden, slightly-crazed laughter coming from the left window that’s been blasted open. 

_Fucking hell, dude._

He goes prone, waiting for whoever's laughing to quit it. If he had to guess, whoever's laughing like they're Bozo the goddamn Clown doesn't want to help a ex-Russian convict escape a burning building, but who knows? 

He creeps forward, trying to hide behind an overturned filing cabinet. All he can make out is a mess of curly dark hair, which doesn't give him anything. He racks his brain, trying to remember the pictures Jordan gave him for their accomplices, but nothing rings a bell. There's another distant boom, and Aleks shuts his eyes, scrabbling for his gun. 

He doesn't like going into hitman mode, but hey, nut up or shut up. 

His Kalashnikov is ice cold in his palm. It's comforting. He counts to ten, and ten again, and ten again, and ignores the twinge in his useless shoulder as he shakily goes to stand, gun pointed out the window. 

Gone.

There's nothing but the sound of fire as it licks the building's structural components further down the hallway. He sweeps the area quickly, looking for any sort of intruder, and decides to bust his ass toward the exit. Cash out early, like Monopoly. 

"You're real fucking ignorant, you know that?" 

Aleks spins, gun drawn, and curses. The man from before is leaning on another set of cabinets, arms crossed. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200. He didn't look particularly dangerous here, with his hoodie and cheap jeans, not that appearances are that important in this business. Disguises are meant to disarm, after all. 

"What do you want?" Aleks spits, too startled to speak in his fake Russian drawl. The man shrugs, his hair bouncing slightly, scratching his beard, a perfect picture of collected nonchalence. 

"Who you're working for, for starters. I was sent into this shithole by my employer to help someone's sorry ass, and I hope it's you," the man says, eyes sweeping him up and down, "Or else we're going to have a problem." 

"Why would I tell you, jackass?" Aleks taunts, and the man shrugs again. 

"Because I have this building ready to blow in thirty seconds, and with your _bum leg,_ you can't make it very far," the man grins, and Aleks looks down at his real, working leg to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. Maybe he was mistaken. He readjusts the gun on his shoulder and looks back up. 

"… you mean arm?" Aleks prompts, and there's a glint of silver in the air before there's a searing pain right below Aleks' knee cap. He yells, dropping the gun, and buckles to the ground. 

"Fucker!" He swears, and the man chuckles gleefully, swinging a pistol around his finger. Aleks hopes the last thing he ever sees isn't this loser. 

"Now, tell me who you're working for," the man asks again, inching closer, stuffing his pistol back into his waistband. Aleks is fully prepared to give him a fake name and go on his merry way.

"Mathewson," Aleks grinds out. He realizes what he said and winces. Nice one. What if this dude was with Kovic? Kovic's not a fan of his. He almost misses how the man's face lights up. 

"Hordan? That makes this easier," He says cheerfully, and Aleks closes his eyes and waits for the next bullet, this time maybe to his head? His chest? 

He feels himself be tossed over this guy's shoulder, and they're both hauling ass out of this building, and there's a boom somewhere in the background, and Aleks is too woozy from fucking blood loss to do anything to this jackass who thinks he can just pick up people and run with them - 

***

He wakes up in the Creatures' medical table with an apologetic Jordan sitting at the edge of it. He recognizes Dan's form bustling around his leg, and Aleks tries to ignore the telltale dig of needles. If he doesn’t consider context, it feels like another tattoo. At least that's what he tells himself. 

"He's awake," the stranger's voice calls out. Jordan turns to Aleks with a doe-eyed look, and starts apologizing profusely. 

For one of Los Santos biggest crime bosses, Jordan Mathewson is sometimes too soft for his own good. However, Aleks can't bring himself to care right now. 

"I thought you and James -," Jordan points to mysterious stranger, leaning on the doorframe, "had already met. He's new." 

Aleks squints at James. _New?_

"I updated Dan a few darn seconds before the safehouse blew up, and here you are, with a broken leg and dislocated shoulder." He shakes his head in disgust with himself. 

"Yeah, I noticed, Jordan," Aleks mutters, still looking at James. Jordan slaps his own knee. 

"Hot dog, almost back to normal. I gotta go talk to Ramsey, but I'll be back soon," Jordan pats Aleks' non-dislocated shoulder, and stands up. He locks his face into discussion face, which Aleks has definitely caught him practicing in the mirror, and leaves, his holsters clinking around his hips. 

It's quiet in the room after Jordan leaves, like he's sucked all the energy out of the room. James continues drinking beer in a corner, Dan continues picking glass shards out of his skin, humming quietly to some concerto someone put over the radio. He spots his own Kalashnikov resting on the table next to him, oiled and sparkling. There's a chill from some wind from some phantom window, and he realizes someone took his damn shirt. Damn it. Damn his shirt. 

"James," He grumbles, half-hoping the man won't hear. He does. 

"Yeah?" James mutters, shoving his hands in his pockets, nearing the table. 

"Can you get me some kind of shirt, please? I'm freezing my ass off in here," Aleks stutters through clenched teeth, and James cocks his head.

"Okay..." He says, like he's debating the fucking pros and cons. Aleks sees his tongue poke around his mouth, and God, this dude is moving so slow. James finally makes his mind up, and disappears into the rest of the safehouse with a squeak of his sneakers. 

Dan shares a knowing glance with him, and Aleks shrugs, clunking his head back into his table. Dan grabs a wet wipe from his med kit, and wipes Aleks' blood off his hands. Aleks breathes out a shaky sigh of relief as Dan clicks the kit shit. 

"Don't move a lot, bud. Two weeks wait, at least," Dan reminds him, wiping the sweat off his hairline with his forearm. Aleks shrugs almost imperceptibly. 

"Aleks, I mean it. I'll update Stef on your condition," Dan says, devoid of his usual jovial nature. Aleks feels a chill come up his spine. Dan leaves, and now all Aleks has for company is a dead composer, spelling out his music in a safehouse. 

He just wants a damn shirt, please God. His tattoos seem faded against the white cloth on the table, and he can feel the coldness of the metal underneath his back. He isn't sure if he should get some sleep here on this table or hobble back to his room to stare at another wall for an hour. Both sound equally promising. 

There's a soft fwump of cloth hitting the table next to him, and he cranes his neck to look at James, leaning against the doorframe. 

"Shirt. See ya," James says, and leaves, definitely not thinking about the man on the table with one and a half working arms. Aleks sighs, resigned to shoving it on in any way possible. It's bigger than his regular shirts, and it goes on quite quickly, to Aleks' relief. It's orange, and printed with some sort of reference Aleks isn't in the right mood to identify. 

He relaxes back onto the table, dressed in a shirt three sizes too big, and figures by the time he wakes up all the bleeding will stop. So he sleeps, his working hand clenched in orange fabric.

***

He wakes up in the same place, which is honestly a relief. He can't say that happens a hundred percent of the time. 

He blinks past the crust in his eyes, tracing the familiar form of his gun still resting beside him. It's still dark, due to the windowless nature of the med room, but he feels like it's got to be morning at least. 

He cranes his neck down to see if any of his blood soaked through the bandaging Dan put on him, and is surprised by the sight of an bulky white cast covering the bottom half of his leg. He tries tensing his toes, which flex a tiny bit in response, but it's mostly pure pain. He tests his arm, and finds that to be somewhat functional, able to wave back at him when he commands it to. _Excellent,_ he thinks squeezing his fist and chuckling to himself, ignoring the fact he definitely looks like a supervillain. 

He sits up, not without difficulty, and he immediately catches the smell of something greasy cooking in the kitchen. His stomach growls like it hasn't seen food in centuries. He spots the old crutches someone – probably Dan – left for him, leaning against the side of the table, and grabs them. 

A few painful moments later, he topples out of the room, limping as fast as his bleary mind will let him. 

The kitchen is unusually bustling for the day after a mission; Dan is cooking furiously at the house's tiny stovetop, adding thick pancakes to an evergrowing stack beside him. The plates of crispy bacon are already set on their makeshift table, and Aron and Stefani are chowing down in silence, looking equally sleep-deprived. Aleks can see Jordan pacing in the next room on his cellphone, an apple in his hand. 

No sign of James, however. Aleks doesn't know how to feel about that. 

The three-inch thick windows let small streams of light through the curtains, and it smells like breakfast, and Aleks almost lets himself believe this is a normal, civilian day as he goes to sit down. 

He wobbles down next to Aron, and the man looks at him briefly before doing a double take. He bursts out into laughter, and Aleks recoils, touching his face with a hand. 

"What the fuck, Aron?" He says, trying to find whatever Aron was looking at, and he finds out as soon as Aron chokes it out. 

"You look like Scarface, bud," Aron says, and Stefani opens her mouth to defend Aleks, but she starts giggling instead. Aleks snatches Aron's phone off the table to check himself out on the dark screen. He groans. 

There's stitching from Aleks' right eyebrow down to his mouth, curving around his temple that, almost as if discovering it made it real, begins to pound. 

"You're a fucking asshole, Aron," Aleks mutters, wondering if it happened during the fight and he just didn't notice it because of all the other fucking distractions. He chucks Aron's phone back on the table, and flips him off when he chuckles. 

He takes a slice of bacon from the greasy plate, and chews it carefully to not upset his many face wounds. Dan wonders over with a few plates of pancakes, and carefully hands them to each person. Aleks accepts his, screening it for a second, and looks up at Dan with disbelief. His pancakes are already cut up for him in perfect bite sized pieces. 

"I'm not a child, Dan," Aleks says, raising his plate to push it back into Dan's hands. 

"You only have one real working arm, Aleks," Dan reminds him with a cocked eyebrow, and embarrassment flares low in Aleks' stomach. He knows Dan is just trying to help, but does he need reminders about how badly he fucked up? Does he? 

The lock to the safehouse beeps as someone enters the code from the outside, and everyone stops chewing. Only a few people know the combination, and Spencer and Joe are on surveillance in the next city over. Jordan still paces, oblivious. 

James, carrying a box of Krispy Kremes in one hand and his phone in the other, makes his way around the door and pushes it shut with his foot. A chorus of relieved hellos greet him, and he nods, putting the box on the table beside the bacon. Dan hands him a plate of pancakes in lieu of a hello, and James sits down next to Stefani and Aleks with a humph. 

"Dude, donuts?" Aleks asks, smirk plastered on, and James raises an eyebrow at him, already digging into his pancakes. 

"Why the fuck not?" James responds, swallowing down his mouthful loudly. Aleks can't fault that logic, but he presses forward anyway, pushing on a bruise somewhere between them. 

"Pretty unhealthy, no? Aron's a growing boy, here," Aleks tries to assume a nonchalant position on the couch, but only succeeds at plonking his arm on the table loudly. Aron nods somewhere in his periphery. 

"Then don't eat one, asshole," James counters again, and there's silence. He becomes distantly aware that he's still wearing James' shirt, and really doesn't want James to notice, because it's pretty soft. His threatening tank tops only get so comfortable past cotton blend. This fucking shirt must be, like, cashmere. 

Jordan takes that avenue to wander in, shoving his phone in his pocket. He throws the apple core in the compost, and grabs a piece of bacon to gnaw on. Everyone watches with sick fascination as Jordan proceeds to almost swallow the piece whole, like a snake. 

"What the fuck, Jordan?" Aleks and James spit at the same time, an almost off putting synchronicity, and Jordan shrugs, tearing another strip off. 

"That was Spencer and Joe off in Liberty City. They say there's a bank there that hasn't been robbed in two months, and I personally think the Creatures are the one to break that streak," Jordan says, waving that fucking piece of bacon around like a baton. Aleks watches as the grease sprays off it, and sneaks a look at James, who looks like someone spit in his food right in front of him. 

"Liberty City? That's a couple days drive over," Stefani says thoughtfully, pushing her fork around her scrambled eggs in thought. Jordan nods. 

"Some of the Funhaus boys offered to take us in their headquarters. Of course, they want fifteen percent, but that's nothing we can't part with," Jordan agrees, turning to search the cabinets.

He finds his favourite mug, a tacky pink mug with his names of his cats emblazoned on it in brown, and pours some coffee Dan brewed in it. 

"Fastest we can leave is," Stefani checks her phone, "Tuesday. That doesn't give us a lot of leeway." 

"Just under a week will do us just fine. Dan, vehicle duty," Jordan says, stirring his coffee with a spoon, and Dan wordlessly nods, " Aron, you come with us for comms, and Stefani, Spencer, and Joe will be on the front lines." 

Aleks waits for his assignment, which doesn't come. Everyone resumes eating and he looks around him in disbelief. 

"Yo, Jordan, hit me up," he prompts. 

"You're injured, Aleksandr," Jordan reminds him after a moment of silence, motioning at his leg. _The fucking leg._

Aleks sputters, trying to pick the right words. None of them are really coming to him. 

"But boss, I-," He tries to start, but is dismissed with a wave of his hand. 

"You'll stay here to keep up communications with Fake AH. They've been kind recently, and we can't mess it up. We can't go AWOL suddenly, it'll look bad," Jordan says, sanctimoniously. Everyone else nods like this isn't the worst thing Aleks has ever heard. 

"So I'll be here for weeks, alone. Trying not to shoot myself in boredom. Awesome, Jordan," Aleks says, aware he is 'whining' like Sly used to say he does. He crosses his arms, and tries not to react to the twinge of pain in his shoulder socket. 

"He's saying you should stay here, not kicking you out to fuckin' Guantanomo Bay," James mutters, and Aleks feel a sudden flush of rage he's been trying to summon since he first saw this dude. 

"If it weren't for you, I'd still have a working leg!" Aleks yells, and James looks like he's been waiting for this just as long. 

"If it weren't for me, you'd be fucking dead," James reminds him, getting up close, challenging him to back away. Aleks refuses, gritting his teeth. 

"In a trap that you set!" Aleks grits between gnashed teeth and Jordan clears his throat behind him. /

"James, you're staying here too," Jordan decides, and James snaps his head back to stare at him. Aleks feels a mix of demented glee and dread percolate in his stomach. 

"What the fuck? Why?" James demands, his voice breaking. 

"You have medical training, and Aleks has fourteen stitches that need to be taken out eventually," Jordan says calmly, and that’s the draining of the argument bathtub. James looks like he's trying to say a million different things, but nothing's coming out. 

Sure, Aleks can admit it hurts that this dude he knows nothing about doesn't want to spend time with him. In the same breath, however, he shot his fucking leg. He pointedly looks away. 

"Why can't Dan stay here? He's a fucking doctor," James, seemingly found his words now and raring at full capacity, points to Dan. Dan shrugs at Jordan. 

"He's coming with us. No one else can drive as well as he can, James," Jordan says neutrally, and James humphs. Aleks won't bring up the fact that wherever Jordan goes, Dan goes with. James'll learn sooner or later. 

He chews his bacon, feeling something like victory in his veins. 


	2. meat lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River Monsters is a surprisingly good mediator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dedicate this chapter to @vanillatwist, who wrote me paragraphs so kind I printed them out to keep for inspiration. Also thanks to @tinypeckers for believing in me. Thanks so much!

The first thing James does after they both watch the company Rolls Royce drive off is grumble something about cleaning guns. He retreats back into the house, back and to the right, where Aleks knows the artillery room is waiting. He thinks about joining him, but only gives that a second of serious thought before wobbling to sit down on their couch. 

This fucking leather couch has been through so much shit it was basically a part of their squad. Aleks remembers when they had to drag Joe's half burned body here after a faulty bomb went off, and he remembers the blood and ash that took forever to clean off the leather. He remembers when Sly sat him down and told him he and Seamus were leaving. He remembers it all in startling clarity, some 1080p bullshit. He wants to pick at his stitches but he doesn't. 

He grabs a crusty-looking burner phone Jordan left behind on the coffee table, flips it open, and waits for it to boot up. Once it welcomes him with the customary _Good Morning_ text, he chooses Settings and puts the notifications on the loudest setting. If he misses a call from Ramsey, then Jordan will personally kill him. 

He plays Pong for a while on the tiny display, cursing when his bum arm won't respond as quick as it used to. He can hear James clattering around in the artillery room, echoed by the clanging of artillery shells hitting the ground every so often. He can only hear so many "What the _hell?_ "s before he gets curious. He grabs the crutches, slips the phone into his pants pocket, and quietly wobbles over. 

The screaming gets louder as he stands in front of the heavy iron door. He rests his weight on his foot before he gets his hands ready to push it open, and the door is suddenly yanked away from him. 

"Can I help you?" 

James' face and shirt is dotted with smears of grease, and a purple headband is only barely holding his hair off his face. He looks pretty worked up, and Aleks readjusts his weight on the crutches and struggles to come up with something realistic that he would come need to talk to him about. 

"Uh," Aleks clears his throat, "Pizza?" 

James stares at him for a second in disbelief, and slowly starts to close the door again. Aleks hurries to stop him before he does.

"We know a couple of guys at Domino's, so we'd be untraceable," Aleks says, nailing the dismissive shrug at the end. James rolls his eyes, and opens the door again. 

"Fine. Only if they have Meat Lovers," James grabs a rag from behind the door and quickly rubs his hands with it. He tosses it back in the room, and steps out of it, letting the door shut behind him. 

"So uh," Aleks stutters as they both walk down the corridor, "What were you doing back there?" 

"None of your goddamn business," James counters, sliding his headband off, stuffing it in his jean's pocket. His hair springs out, and he curses as he wrestles it into a bun. Aleks tightens his grip on his crutches. His hoodie is suffocating him slowly. The silence is deafening like the air in a room before a bomb explodes. James seems like he's relishing the awkwardness. 

"Really, dude? You're going to make it like this?" Aleks tries, feeling his smile tighten. James scoffs and keeps his gaze straight ahead as they round the corner. 

"I don't have shit to say, I don't know," James says, testily. Aleks nods, keeping his gaze glued forward They hang a right at the kitchen, and James grabs his hoodie from the back of a chair. It's quiet again. 

He doesn't know what Jordan was thinking, to be honest. Their group was fine how it was. There were murmurs of a new member, but like, couldn't they have picked a cool hacker? A arms specialist? Not a bomb-happy jackass currently waiting for him to wobble out of the door. 

"Can you hurry it up, please?" Said jackass says, arms crossed across his dumbass hoodie. Aleks flips him off. 

*** 

The ride over is uneventful. James taps his fingers on the steering wheel to whatever top 40 song the radio is playing. The sun is setting, shining orange and pink light over both of them. James squints and flips the mirror down in front of him. 

Aleks is spread out in the front seat, tapping on his actual phone that Aron jailbroke for him. The burner phone sits in his pocket like a rock, but he doesn't want to deal with it right now, so he won't. 

They drive for a while, and James hums every so often. It's annoying, but Aleks doesn't want to get on worse terms with this guy, so he lets this rendition of Focus by Ariana Grande pass. It's catchy, so whatever. 

They pull up to the pizza place in comfortable silence. James opens the car door for him and Aleks catches himself nodding in thanks. It's peaceful like the calm before the storm, or something. 

They walk (well, Aleks wobbles) into Dominoes, and luckily, Charlie's at the counter, handlebar mustache and all. He's looks good, not scared like before. 

"Hello boys!" Charlie calls out, his natural German accent competing with his fake American one. It'll never be perfect, but it'll do for now, or whenever the FBI take Charlie off their Most Wanted list. 

"Hey, Charlie, nice to see you," Aleks smiles, and it's a genuine one. 

"Nice to see you as well, _Anthony_ ," Charlie winks, the mustache spreading wide across his face in an approximation of a smile. "Sight for sore eyes I see." 

Aleks looks down at his cast, and shrugs. "Stairs are evil, Charlie. I have no other explanation." 

Charlie barks out a laugh, and Aleks feels James' questioning eyes on his neck, but ignores it. James should understand the need for codenames and codewords when they work in public. 

"I'll have a medium Hawaiian, and.. Josh?" Aleks looks at James for guidance, but James won't stop staring at him. Charlie clears his throat, and the spell breaks, and James searches the menu board. 

"I'll have a... large Meat Lovers, please," James decides, eyes now fixed firmly on the lineouleum. Charlie nods, writes it down, and tells them it's on the house, which is customary. Aleks still acts like it's an act of extreme kindness, and thanks him profusely. James nods at Charlie before going to sit down in one of the tables near the window, staring out it to watch the cars go by. 

Alex rearranges his crutches and sighs. _Fuck, I have to hold one conversation with this dude._

_Jordan would want me to, right? Right?_

He rationalizes the upcoming conversation in the time it takes for him to walk over. James is too preoccupied by the window to notice him slump down in the seat across from him, so he clears his throat. 

"Anthony," James acknowledges, tracking a bus through the window. Aleks thinks he can see his eyebrow quirk slightly, and that'x progress. 

"Joshua," Aleks says, trying to smile like they both share an inside joke. James' eyes flick to him, and back out the window. 

Aleks shuts his eyes briefly and wishes death would take him where he sits. 

"We started off on the wrong foot, I think," Aleks starts, leaning forward as far as his broken arm would let him. James finally tears his gaze away from the window, looking uninterested, but still looking at him. 

"I said some things... you said some things," Aleks flicks his hand between them, "It was a mutual disagreement." 

James nods, biting the side of his cheek. 

"And, for Jordan's sake, I think we should get along," Aleks prompts, and James cocks his head, "Not, you know, fight at the dinner table." 

It takes a few seconds for that to process, and Aleks waits for James to – he doesn't know, say no? Curse him out? 

"Fine," James says, shrugging. 

Aleks almost does a double take.

"Fine?" Aleks echoes and James nods, attention focused on the air just past Aleks' shoulder. 

"Order for Anthony and Josh!" Charlie yells, and James quickly gets up. Aleks sighs and quickly catergorizes this interaction as 'a loose success'. 

***

They journey home with the pizza resting warm on Aleks' thighs and silence pressing down on them. 

It's well after dark when they get back, and James opens the door for him again, waiting silently for Aleks to get out. He then closes it gently behind him, grabs the pizza from his hands, and presses the code on the door, whistling quietly. 

Aleks stares after him, caught. His heart skips a beat, and he cringes at the feeling. He'll mention it to Dan when he gets back. 

James retreats back into the weapons room, snagging a piece of Meat Lovers' on the way. Aleks can hear James snap the lock on the artillery door back into place, and feels the sound down to his bones, and tries to ignore how heavy his leg feels. He sighs. 

He sleeps on the leather couch, his pizza resting on his bare chest and his leg propped on the matching leather ottoman. _River Monsters_ blares on the flat screen ahead of him, and the sound of fishing lines reeling becomes kind of comforting. _A camping trip wouldn't be too bad,_ he thinks, ignoring the feeling of oil seeping into his shirt. _Campfire, tents, swimming..._

He is startled awake by a body dropping itself next to him, smelling like engine grease. He shifts to the side, ignoring the twinge in his arm as he leans on it to make room. It's not a big couch, and this certainly isn't going to help his sleep patterns. 

He peels an eye open, and sees James looking back at him. The wind is knocked out of him a little. 

"Hey," Aleks whispers, his throat dry, and James takes a beat to look at him, before turning back to _River Monsters._

"Hey." 

Aleks wants to say something more, but the silence is alluring, so he leaves it. 

James' profile is lit by the show, the harsh blues and greys reflecting off his cheekbones. He blinks sluggishly every so often, and his hair, tied up into a bun again, is crushed against the couch. When he isn't shouting at Aleks to shut up, or cursing him out for not eating the crusts off his pizza, he's sort of handsome. Aleks wants to run his hands through his curls, but he doesn't. James would cut his hands off. 

He realizes he's been staring at James for entirely too long when James glances back at him, confused. 

"Do I have pizza on my face?" James asks sluggishly, and wipes his face with his hands. His huge hands. His huge, calloused, almost-dainty hands. Aleks shuts his eyes against a wave of something rising within him. 

"Nope. You're good," Aleks answers, eyes still screwed shut, and James hums. 

_I think I like you,_ Aleks wants to say. He has a lot of things he wants to say, but the silence is alluring. He leaves it. 

He falls asleep, lulled by the southern men on TV catching huge fish and James humming Focus, smelling like engine grease and pizza. It's quiet. Aleks can hold up this friendship if he gets to have nights like this. 

Looking back, he doesn't know where he pulled that shit from. 


	3. high definition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Your location is compromised."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! I'm sorry for not responding to comments! This chapter is dedicated to my commenters, who make my day frequently. I LOVE YOU ALL! I also just wrote this, so some editing and changing might happen. Enjoy!

The days after that happen like this: 

1) James wakes up at 7:32am on the dot. Aleks can sometimes hear him through the walls, stomping and swearing and crashing into things. It's an explosive affair, but then again, so is he. 

2) James stumbles past his bedroom door on the way to the bathroom, and Aleks can hear the knuckles dragging on the wall. He slams Aleks' door in an effort to wake him up, and the sound shakes him up enough to push the blankets off. 

3) They meet in the kitchen at 8:02am, where the tango of trying to prepare breakfast starts. James gets his cinnamon Pop Tart ready and Aleks blends up his own protein shake. James shoves a fruit leather down his throat, and Aleks takes a bite out of his not-milked-enough Frosted Flakes. It's rare to have more than a five word exchange –Can you pass the milk?- but it's comfortable. 

4) They would go their own ways until lunch. Aleks blasts Drake as he rebandages his arm, and James organizes the artillery room. Once that's done, he organizes their pantry. Aleks watches two seasons of How I Met Your Mother in one day, and James hogs Netflix to himself at night to watch Tangled. 

5) Lunch happens. James goes out for burgers, and Aleks orders them both Starbucks under a fake name. He learns James' favourite order –a bottled Vanilla Frappucino and chocolate chip cookie- and leaves it on the counter for him, peace-offering-to-bear style. James grunts in appreciation, and in return, Aleks sometimes finds almost a whole brownie with his name on it. The bite taken out of it is interest, he's told, but he'll take it. 

6) Dinner happens at 11pm, if it happens at all. Aleks cooks what he can most of the time, but sometimes, James gives him half his stirfry, and they eat it together on their shitty couch. The fare goes from Pawn Stars to good ol' River Monsters. They're probably the only two that watch it anymore. 

7) Aleks wobbles into bed at 1am, and James grunts good night as he passes the door, toothbrush in mouth and hair tied back. 

8) The burner phone sits in Aleks' pocket like a stone the whole time. He ignores it. 

*** 

"Dude, can you pass the fucking Cheetos? Can you? Is it-" Aleks tries to reach for the bag again, but it is yanked out of his grasp, "Physically possible for you to extend your arm four fucking inches?" 

James giggles, and the crushed up Cheeto remains in his mouth shake as Aleks goes in for the grab again. 

The sun has barely risen above the treetops, and it's pretty quiet in the safehouse. They're parked on the couch again, stuck there after a late night marathon of _Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives._ Somewhere deep in the house's innards, an alarm clock is ringing.

Aleks finally nabs a corner of the offending Cheetos bag, and yanks it toward himself. James gapes in surprise, hands clutching the space where his prize was, screaming in grief. 

Aleks flinches away from his outstretched fingers, all-too aware of the orange dust that coats his fingers. James gets the same idea at exact same instantt, and rubs his hands all over any part of Aleks that's closest to him, which happens to be his sweatpants. 

_Beep-beep. Beep-beep._

Aleks freezes. 

James is still laughing, reaching over again to wipe his hands on Aleks' shirt, but stops short when he notices that he's tensed up, like a cat before it gets water dumped on it. 

Aleks ignores James as he digs the phone out of his pocket and flips it open. The number is unknown, of course.

"Hello?" Aleks asks, voice cracking.

"Is this call High Definition?" The voice on the other side asks, cracking and rusty. 

Aleks cringes at the code name he told Jordan to use in case of out calls. He didn't know _Geoff Ramsey_ was going to use it, he would've picked something cooler. 

"Indeed it is," He says, trying to be smooth again. He ignores James' curious inching towards the phone for as long as he can, before he tells him to back off. 

"Your location is compromised. Move out immediately. Jordan sends his apologies," Geoff says, even sounding halfway apologetic. 

"W-what?" Aleks stutters, waiting for the joke. 

"You are surrounded by everyone in this city that doesn't like you, Aleks. Move," Geoff says, and with that, the call drops. 

He lets the dial tone drone in his ear for far too long. 

"Who was that?" James asks, arms crossed, probably feeling left out. 

"We're surrounded," Aleks whispers, dragging his eyes outside the window. 

Indeed, just as Geoff told him, the street outside the safehouse is clogged with Range Rovers, Jeeps, and a white hearse. Waiting for him. _Oh fuck._

"Surrounded?" James says, sitting up straight. Aleks nods numbly, and grabs his crutches from where they're leaning next to the couch. 

"What we're going to do, James," Aleks whispers as he cautiously gets up, eyes still locked outside, "Is head down to the basement and leave the premises immediately." James gets up and follows him, five feet behind him. Casual to onlookers. He's no amateur. 

"We have a getaway car?" James asks, and Aleks makes eye contact quickly. 

"Only one." 

*** 

The tunnel to the getaway car is pitch black on purpose, so no onlookers can see more than five inches in front of the faces. However, for a dude who can barely walk and another dude half-afraid of the dark, it doesn't work as well. 

Aleks' iPhone flashlight is barely lighting up the ten feet ahead of them. James curses every so often under his breath as he kicks a rock. It's tense, and barely any words were uttered as they grabbed as many guns as they could carry, along with any personal items, cash, and three changes of clothes. Protocol. 

Gunshots started to go off above them five minutes ago. Aleks cringes as every shot. He tries to not think about the couch getting decimated, or their flat screen TV getting smashed. He can't think about it, because if he does, he might start sobbing. Not in front of James. Not right now. 

His light settles upon something silver and reasonably car-shaped. Jackpot. 

"James, it's here," He whispers, and James grunts behind him. The car keys are hidden right in front of the left foremost tire, and Aleks shines a light on them so James can swoop down and take them. They get into the car in complete silence, and James revvs the engine. 

The old Prius peels out of a hidden driveway, two blocks down and one block over from the house. They can hear the gunshots in the distance. They are used to them. 

The car barely had a radio, but James fiddled with the controls until a staticky Mumford and Sons song blared out. They sat in silence, two dudes covered in sweat, but no blood. Not today. Aleks leans his head against the window, watching the rain splatter against the windshield. No blood today. 

"I know a place we can stau," James breaks the silence, and Aleks looks over at him. His fingers are white, clenched around the wheel. James clears his throat, looking over at him. 

"Old friend. His name is Joe, too. He leaves on the south side, by the donut place." James says, voice wavering. 

Aleks nods, closing his eyes. 

"Let's get there soon," He says, and for once, James agrees with him.


End file.
